


The Secret Behind Falling

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [95]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale is a Softie, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Slash, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: The thing about Stiles Stilinski was that once he latched on, he didn’t let go. Originally, Derek had thought if he snapped and growled enough, Stiles would eventually get the message and back off. But that never ended up happening.The boy was there. He was always there.Months had passed and Derek still wasn’t sure how Stiles managed to get into his loft.He decidedly didn’t like it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [95]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 24
Kudos: 386





	The Secret Behind Falling

To Derek, it felt like falling.

He’d fallen so much over the years, he felt like he should be an expert by now. It was one thing after another; the blue-eyes, the blonde-haired hunter, the body in the woods. And now  _ that _ was falling, wasn’t it? He’d heard the term ‘rock bottom’ before but had come to realize long ago that it couldn’t be a real thing. Because wouldn’t he have hit it by now?

Except, this was different. This felt so different.

Fucking Stiles Stilinski.

Derek didn’t know if there was more than one way to fall. If anything, he thought he might have felt it with Paige. Or Kate. That stupid thing Laura would tease him about when she’d bring up girls and he’d roll his eyes, trying to cover up his crush on the cello player, or the blonde-haired substitute teacher that had been so scary but so exciting.

And he was pretty sure that’s what falling should have felt like. Maybe. Probably. Right?

But then he’d lost his entire family, and wasn’t that what it actually was? Laura driving them through the entire night with white knuckles around the steering wheel, taking refuge in an old apartment in New York that smelled like decay. The one they ended up staying in for years, even though she’d promised they’d be gone by morning.

To Derek, that had felt like falling. It had all felt like falling.

But so did any interaction with Stiles Stilinski.

He thought he could ignore it at first. Except somewhere in between meeting the idiot in the middle of the woods and going on the run as an alleged murderer, Derek realized Stiles had gotten underneath his skin unlike anyone he’d ever met before. And it  _ bothered  _ him. 

Stiles bothered him.

Then there was the instance of two hours in the pool followed by the word ‘abomination’, and Derek came to terms with the fact that it was because Stiles was familiar. Stiles was familiar like the fall; in a way that Derek had long since tried to forget.

Except the boy wasn’t that easy to shake. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter where he turned, the idiot was always  _ there _ .

In the beginning, he’d hoped buying his own loft would be different. But he had been wrong before.

“So,” Stiles said, wandering into the kitchen with an empty bowl of cereal in one hand and his phone in the other. “What’s the plan for the rogue omega, Sourwolf?”

Two seconds ago, Derek’s attention had been fully on his cup of coffee— which was exactly what he blamed for the fact that he hadn’t recognized Stiles’s scent earlier. Yeah, that was totally it. Now, though, he stared at the boy, trying to process how exactly Stiles had gotten into the loft without a key and  _ Derek had just woken up twenty minutes ago, hadn’t he? _

“Uh, Stiles said, lowering his phone and raising an eyebrow. “Sourwolf? Are you okay?”

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“Dude,” Stiles said, scoffing. “If you have to ask that, then I’m seriously worried about your status of being our Alpha.”

Derek blinked and Stiles dropped onto the stool opposite him, sticking his spoon in his mouth and grinning around it.

“So, Sourwolf. Rogue omega?”

“I didn’t tell Scott about that,” Derek said, still processing. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Of course, you didn’t,” the boy said. “But I’m clearly the responsible one in our friendship, so I’ve been in contact with your betas. Plus, we all know Scotty goes running around the woods at night to meet up with Allison, and either of them getting turned into rogue werewolf chow would be unfortunate.”

Derek continued to stare. Catching his expression, Stiles blinked.

“Or, maybe you didn’t know that. But now you do! And it’s all thanks to the token human— you’re very welcome.”

Derek looked at him for another long moment. Then, picking up his coffee, he moved around the counter and started past the teenager, ignoring Stiles’s spluttering at his back. Because honestly? It was far too early to even be trying to comprehend Stiles’s presence in his loft. And now Derek had his betas to chew out.

Yeah, his week was already starting out just great.

See, the thing about Stiles Stilinski was that once he latched on, he didn’t let go. Originally, Derek had thought if he snapped and growled enough, Stiles would eventually get the message and back off. But that never ended up happening. From the kid he’d met in the woods the first night— all buzz cut and gangly limbs— to whatever the hell Stiles had become now, Derek couldn’t seem to shake him.

He was there. He was  _ always there. _

Months passed and Derek still wasn’t sure how Stiles managed to get into his loft. He decidedly didn’t like it.

“I just think the betas could do with some more freedom,” Stiles said one day, lounging on the couch with his laptop propped up on his knees. Derek glared at him from his own spot across the room, but the boy wasn’t even looking in his direction. “They aren’t children, you know. Or at least, Boyd isn’t.”

“I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”

Surprise entering his previously bored scent, Stiles finally glanced up. And then he looked around the room, as if realizing for the first time how quiet and dark it had gotten. Derek still wasn’t sure that was possible— the idiot had spent the entire day on his couch, after all, only getting up to raid his fridge a few hours ago. 

“Oh damn,” Stiles said, whistling. “I thought Erica was going to be here to back me up in this argument.”

“You... what?”

“Erica,” Stiles said, glancing back over. “She thinks she and the others should have a later curfew and be allowed to scare the shit out of people with their beta forms whenever the situation calls for it.”

Derek still stared. Stiles grinned crookedly, readjusting himself on the couch.

“I didn’t think she’d get that last one, honestly, but I promised to be here for support. ‘Cause I’m a good friend, you know, dude?”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Okay, Sourpuss,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to his computer screen. “Just tell her I came by, would you? If I’m gone by the time she gets back, at least.”

Derek still didn’t know what the teen was doing in his loft. But Stiles’s attention was fully locked on his screen by now and Derek knew there was no chance he was getting his attention again. Glaring at the boy for another long second, he stayed sitting until it felt stupid, growling and shoving himself up.

He didn’t think Stiles even noticed as he stalked into the next room. And for some reason, that bothered him too.

But see, Derek wasn’t sure  _ what  _ about Stiles Stilinski bothered him. Maybe it was the idiot’s annoying sarcasm or his neverending jokes, or the way he only stopped talking when his mouth was otherwise occupied. Or maybe it was his stupid smile, his stupid face, or those stupid moles that Derek sometimes wanted to trace where they disappeared underneath his shirt.

No… wait, not that. Definitely not that.

Though it could still be a lot of things, Derek figured. The real fact was Stiles was stupid as a whole.

And the idiot  _ bothered  _ him.

Yeah, that’s what it was. 

It took an unfortunate incident with a wendigo for Derek to realize that wasn’t really what it was.

The rest of the pack must have realized how pissed off he was, because they all filtered out of the loft the moment Derek growled that they could go. Everyone except for Stiles, of course, who lingered by the door with an uncertain look on his face.

Derek glared at him from where he sat on the edge of his bed, the gash across his back still taking its time stitching itself back together. Because he was tired, dammit. He was tired, he was in pain, and he really just wanted to be left alone.

But Stiles didn’t leave him alone. Instead, the boy moved further into the room.

“Uh, hey, dude—”

“Don’t, Stiles,” Derek growled. “I told you to go home.”

The boy paused and a defiant light flashed through his amber eyes. Derek knew he was doomed the moment Stiles set his jaw, striding into the kitchen and coming out a few moments later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

Derek rolled his eyes, shifting so his back was turned toward the boy. Which probably didn’t help his case much.

“Holy shit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed, freezing a few inches away. “That’s disgusting.”

“Thanks,” Derek snapped. “You can leave the kit and leave.”

Stiles’s scent soured with anger for a moment. But the emotion didn’t last long before the teen was settling on the bed behind him, cold fingertips touching Derek’s shoulder and making him jerk. In a second, Stiles was mumbling apologies, drawing his hand back.

“I said you can go,” Derek said again, trying to ignore the strange mourning at that loss of touch. He heard Stiles sigh.

“I swear to god, dude, you could make this a lot less difficult.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“I could call you a lot worse,” Stiles muttered. Derek clenched his jaw, glaring at the opposite wall, and he jerked again when Stiles touched his shoulder once more, this time starting to pull away mangled t-shirt from blood crusted skin.

“Stiles,” Derek said, hating his voice for sounding strangled. He was torn between pulling away and staying stock-still, as if not moving would make sure Stiles didn’t stop. Still, the boy hesitated.

“Is this okay?”

Derek clenched his jaw, glaring harder at nothing. Stiles pulled away even more.

“Because I can call Boyd to help instead, or—”

“Don’t,” Derek said, cutting him off. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. “Please don’t go.”

Stiles’s scent turned surprised. The boy didn’t move for a moment and Derek wondered for a moment if that was wrong. If everything he’d just said was wrong. He didn’t like to… ask people for things. He hadn’t for a long time. 

But this was different. Wasn’t it?

This was Stiles.

“Yeah, big guy,” Stiles finally said, and Derek was pretty sure that rush he felt wasn’t relief. Or maybe it was. The boy settled behind him again, fingers tracing over Derek’s shoulder again, and he found his eyes closing once more. “Yeah,” Stiles said again. “I’m here.”

And he always was.

But that’s what bothered Derek so much, wasn’t it? Stiles Stilinski was always  _ there.  _ In his loft, in his whole damn life. It wasn’t like Derek looked for him when he called a pack meeting or found himself a little more at ease when Stiles’s scent greeted him in the morning, but… but…

This was different. This felt like falling.

“You could use a shower,” Stiles said, breaking the silence with that soft, teasing voice of his. The stupid way he always needed to break the silence with jokes— that Derek totally hated. “Once this is healed and all, dude. Like, I’d say the blood isn’t totally gross, but it really is. And I can’t really tell when there wound starts and finishes, but it’s no longer so disgusting anymore. If that helps.”

Derek rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he was met with dancing amber eyes and a stupid shit-eating grin on Stiles’s face.

“Other than that, though,” Stiles said. “You’re still looking good, Sourwolf. Worry not, your sexy werewolf looks are still intact.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles’s face turned bright red and his scent flushed with embarrassment.

“Coming from a completely disinterested perspective, of course.”

“Of course,” Derek said. Stiles ducked his head, picking up the damp cloth at his side and turning his attention to the gash across Derek’s back again.

“You don’t like the rest of the pack seeing you hurt, do you, dude?”

Derek tensed, then grunted. He heard Stiles sigh.

“They can help too, you know. It’s not a bad thing, Sourwolf. Asking for help every once in a while.”

“I don’t need their help,” Derek said. And once more, Stiles’s ministrations stopped for a moment. Derek internally winced, already hating himself for continuing to snap at everything the boy said. But Stiles still didn’t pull back, starting again with the washcloth after a few more seconds. Derek could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“But you need mine.”

Derek didn’t answer that. Because he didn’t, did he? Stiles was just stubborn, that’s why he was still here. The words  _ don’t go  _ totally hadn’t come from Derek’s mouth— or maybe it was just the pain. It was the pain and the darkness and… and maybe Derek didn’t want to be alone right now. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone if Stiles was the one staying at his side.

“So,” Stiles said softly. “Not them. But what about us?”

The very question made Derek freeze.

Because the way he saw it, Derek could send Stiles away right now. One harsh word, or maybe even just a few more minutes of complete silence. Stiles was stubborn, yes, but Derek could be too. He could send Stiles fuming from the loft with as little as a few more grunts and growls.

He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, shifting away from Stiles’s touch, he turned around and met the boy’s gaze. Those amber eyes that seemed to glow brightly even in the darkness, a quiet expression of nervousness on Stiles’s face. As if the teen knew exactly what was going through Derek’s mind.

_ What about us? _

And it had been so many years. From the moment Derek had come across two teenagers in the middle of the preserve and Stiles had given him that stupid open-mouthed look that made Derek’s blood boil right from the beginning for some reason. It had been so many years and one thing after another.

Stiles was here. Stiles was  _ always here.  _ In his loft, in his life. And it was strange. It was bothersome. 

It wasn’t.

Because silently, in the darkness of the empty loft, Derek thought maybe this was it— this was the secret behind falling. The one where maybe taking that leap off the edge wasn’t so bad. Somehow, fucking Stiles Stilinski was his secret behind falling and Derek didn’t think he could send the boy away even if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

“Derek?”

Stiles’s scent was sharp with anxiety and concern now, his face pale in the dim light. Derek swallowed hard, a million responses on his tongue.  _ What about us?  _ Because that meant there was a them. There was an  _ us. _

To Derek, it felt like falling.

All responses died when he leaned forward and kissed the boy instead of saying another word.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts ' Please don't go,' and' What about us? ' and it was going to be a super angsty fic, but then the soft feels came in and took over. And geez, I've missed writing hurt/comfort! Of course, I'd love to hear what you all thought <3 I hope you guys are doing well!


End file.
